Is This a Dream?
by Tori.Lars
Summary: Sherlock returns, faces Lestrade.  Short one-shot I just couldn't get out of my head.


**A/N**: Couldn't get this out of my head, you know how it goes. Sherlock returns to see Lestrade. Short one-shot.

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><p>Lestrade sat at his desk, bathed in the light of his lamp. Papers were scattered around him and he was sleepy. He'd been at the office for fifteen hours straight, it was almost midnight, and everyone else had gone home.<p>

There was a soft knock on his door. He looked up, surprised, and was saddened again by his new office without glass walls — it was always a little foreboding to ask someone to enter the room not knowing who the other person was. _Oh well,_ he thought, _at least it might be entertaining to be attacked._

"Yes, come in," he called and the door opened. Sherlock Holmes stepped inside and closed the door behind him. His eyes immediately locked on Lestrade's.

Lestrade's jaw fell open. After just a moment, he felt tears jump to his eyes.

"Is this a dream?" he whispered.

Sherlock slowly shook his head. "No."

A chill ran through Lestrade's body at the sound of his voice.

"You're...al-alive?"

"Yes."

"_How_?" The word was more breathed than spoken and finally Sherlock looked away.

"I faked my suicide."

"But John saw you fall."

"He saw an illusion. A magic trick."

Lestrade stood up and noticed that he couldn't feel his fingers. Did emotional shock cause that? He stepped quickly towards Sherlock, wanting to touch him, to make sure beyond any doubt that this wasn't a dream or a delusion. As Lestrade advanced, he saw a most curious thing: Sherlock Holmes flinched, as if expecting a blow.

Lestrade stopped and looked at him questioningly. "Did you think I was going to hit you?" he asked, surprised.

Sherlock shrugged slightly. "Wouldn't be the first time it happened to me today."

Now that he was closer, Lestrade could see a bruise on the side of Sherlock's face in the semi-darkness. The words fumbled out of Lestrade's mouth before he had time to organize them: "John, you saw John, John hit you?"

"I'm impressed by how greatly your deduction skills have improved, Lestrade." Another shiver went through his body at the sound of his name.

It was Lestrade's turn to shrug. "They had to," he muttered. "Without you, I had to..." He trailed off and the first few tears fell, though he tried to fight them. He screwed up his face against the stinging in his eyes but it didn't help. He covered his face with his hand, wiping the tears away harshly and pulled himself together. He took a deep breath and looked at Sherlock again. Sherlock looked morose, anguished from watching him. "Why did you do it? Fake your death?" asked Lestrade.

"They were going to kill you," Sherlock answered simply. "Moriarty had a sniper trained on you, one on John, and one on Mrs. Hudson, and you would have all died if _I_ didn't."

Lestrade let that sink in for a moment. "Why...why did you wait so long to come back? Hell, it's been three years, Sherlock."

"I had to wait long enough to know you were safe. I know that now." Sherlock still wore a tortured expression and Lestrade realized only part of that was about him — it was also about John. John's reaction must have made him wary of how others would react.

Lestrade pursed his lips and muttered, "I know you aren't a very...affectionate person, but, for me?" He held out his arms, hands inches away from Sherlock's shoulders.

Sherlock hesitated, looking at his outstretched arms for a moment before his entire body seemed to relax. "I think I've done quite enough _for you_, Detective Inspector," but he wrapped his arms around Lestrade's waist and pulled him close. Lestrade sighed and rested his head on Sherlock's shoulder. They had never embraced before, yet it felt almost nostalgic.

"I have missed you. Everyone has."

"Not Anderson, I bet."

Lestrade grinned. "You might be surprised. He left the division not long after... It's only speculation, of course, but he seemed rather depressed without your abuse and insults."

"I'll be sure to ring him up, then."

They parted and stared at each other.

"It's so hard to believe," whispered Lestrade, his voice cracking. "I've grieved for you for so long."

"I apologize."

Lestrade's eyes widened. "You? Apologize?"

"John has made it very clear that I hurt people with my decision."

"He's hurting, yes, but he will eventually see that you were, quite literally, protecting him with your decision. It wasn't your fault we were hurt. It was Moriarty. He just needs time, it is a big shock." Lestrade sighed heavily. "You know if there's anything you need, a place to stay or anything -"

"Thank you." Sherlock's lips twitched into a strained smile. "I might have to take you up on that offer."

"It's what friends are for, Sherlock Holmes."


End file.
